


Sunday Kind of Love

by ester_inc



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Frottage, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-02
Updated: 2014-02-02
Packaged: 2018-01-10 23:13:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1165735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ester_inc/pseuds/ester_inc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles wakes up from a nightmare, and Scott is there. Of course Scott is there. Whether he's real, well, that's the part where things get a little fuzzy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sunday Kind of Love

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place some time after "More Bad Than Good" (S03E14). Title taken from the song by the same name, specifically, the Etta James version.

By the time Stiles realized he was awake, he was already sitting up, breathing hard. It took a moment for him to remember why it was Scott and not his dad holding his shoulders, saying, _It's okay, Stiles, just breathe, man, you're okay._

Night shift, movie night, sleep over, _don't worry, Sheriff, I'll stay with him._

Letting out a shaky breath, Stiles rested his forehead against Scott's shoulder, staring at the dark fabric of Scott's shirt with eyes full of lingering cobwebs from the nightmare.

Scott put his arms around Stiles and clumsily patted his back before sliding one hand up, cupping the back of Stiles' head. "Okay?"

Stiles closed his eyes against the worry in Scott's voice. "Peachy. Really totally fine. I mean, this nightmare I had just now? Subpar. It's like my subconscious wasn't even trying."

His reassurances didn't seem to have the desired effect on Scott, who tightened his hold like he thought if he tried hard enough, he could protect Stiles from his own mind. It was sweet, and it made Stiles feel like crap -- for worrying his best friend, for being such a headcase, for being relieved it wasn't his dad putting him back together this time, _pick a reason_ \-- but he didn't have the strength to pull away. He tangled his fingers in the fabric of Scott's shirt and held on, because his head was muzzy with sleep and dreams and nightmares, and he knew Scott wouldn't mind.

"Hey," Stiles said, his eyes still closed. "Have you ever thought you might like guys?"

"Why?" Scott sounded a little bit cautious, like he wasn't sure where Stiles was coming from, or what direction Stiles' thoughts were about to take.

"Wanna make out?"

It was a weak joke, like always, and Stiles was expecting a brush-off, like always.

Instead, barely hesitating at all, Scott said, "Would it help?"

Stiles drew back, opening his eyes to make sure he wasn't hallucinating. Not that he'd be able to tell, and hey, wasn't that a cheery thought. Everything in the past few days pointed to Scott having regained control over his furry side; Allison hadn't reported any further encounters with her crazy dead aunt; and Stiles had regained the ability to read. But he still had nightmares, and he still didn't entirely trust his own mind. He was pretty sure figuring out what had caused the sudden turn for the better would have made him feel less shitty about a lot of things, but that hadn't happened yet. Right now, Scott looked like he always did, earnest and real, and Stiles fought the urge to trace his stupid uneven jawline with his fingers, just to make sure.

The thing was, making out with Scott probably would help. Scott hadn't always been there when Stiles had needed him, but he'd always _been there_ , and something about being around him made Stiles feel safe, grounded. Also and unrelatedly, he'd always vaguely blamed Scott for his own confused sexuality.

But there was taking advantage, and then there was _taking advantage_ , so he said, "Nah, man, it's cool. You're not into guys, and I'm not really into not being attractive to you."

It was a little more of an admission than he'd meant it to be, but he wouldn't have bet on Scott taking the time to puzzle it out, so whatever.

Except then Scott's eyebrows went frowny in a way that meant he _was_ trying to puzzle it out, and Stiles started thinking maybe this whole thing being a hallucination wouldn't be so bad.

"Right," Scott said, slowly. "No, I mean. Not exactly?"

"Scott, buddy, try to be a little more confusing," Stiles said, because he was an unapologetic hypocrite, and he was owning it. "Just a little! Just try! Try a little."

No lie, Scott's adorable crooked smile making an appearance went a long way toward making Stiles forget all about nightmares and doors and Nemetons.

Scott still had a hand around the back of Stiles' neck, and he brushed his thumb against the skin behind Stiles' ear, not quite deliberate. Stiles suppressed a shiver, distracted enough that it didn't register with him at first that Scott was leaning closer. And then Scott was kissing him -- kissing him! -- and it was really weird and totally awesome.

"Dude, this is awesome," Stiles said, their mouths still mostly smushed together, so he wasn't sure Scott could actually make out what he was saying. Make out, heh. "And weird, but mostly awesome."

"Man," Scott said, pulling back a little.

"I'm good, I'll be good, shutting up now," Stiles said, because he didn't want Scott to _stop_. "Starting now. Now-ish."

"No, man, I just mean, yeah. Awesome-weird."

"I knew I was attractive to you," Stiles said, lying through his teeth and not even remotely sorry for it.

Scott smiled. "No, you didn't."

"No, I didn't," Stiles agreed, and pushed in for another kiss a little too hard.

Scott cupped Stiles' face in his hands, steadying him, turning the kiss into something that was both gentle and a little bit hungry.

"Easy," Scott said when their mouths parted, his breath warm on Stiles' lips. His voice was low, but he was still smiling, smiling again, his eyes narrow with it. He looked fond, and in this light, fond looked a lot like besotted, and that was a look Stiles had wanted to see Scott direct at him for longer than he was willing to admit.

"Hey," he said, his heart skipping a beat. He couldn't start having _feelings_ right now, or it was going to suck extra hard the next time Scott made eyes at Allison or -- Kira or -- "Hey, can you do the thing? The wolfy thing, with your eyes?"

Scott looked extremely dubious and maybe a little like he was judging Stiles. Sheesh.

"What? It could be hot. Like burning. Red-hot burning."

Scott's groan was very familiar and not at all sexy, but he looked a bit flustered all the same. All he said was, "Maybe." And then, after a glance at Stiles' body: "Take off your shirt first."

"That's extortion, and I expected better of you."

No one had ever accused Stiles of being patient, so when Scott just looked at him, expectant, he broke sooner rather than later.

"Fine," he said, "but only because I want to. You're not the alpha of me!"

By the time Stiles had gotten the bunched up blanket out of the way and struggled out of his shirt, Scott was shirtless too, rising up to his knees on the bed, pushing Stiles down like he knew what he was doing. It was hotter than it should have been. It was _Scott_. And actually, that was probably part of what made it so hot. Stiles was so screwed.

Screwed, heh.

"I changed my mind, you can be the alpha of me," Stiles said, feeling magnanimous. And turned on. "This once."

"Thanks, man," Scott said, going for sarcasm, but mostly he just sounded happy.

"No problem," Stiles murmured, and then they were kissing again.

Scott settled on top of him, warm and really kind of heavy, but Stiles would have been insane to complain. He was getting hard, they both were; he still had his boxers on, and Scott was wearing sweatpants, but it was good, it was so good, Stiles was getting dizzy with it. He pushed his hips up against Scott's, couldn't help himself. This whole making out thing was already starting to get a bit beyond just making out, but Scott wasn't saying anything, wasn't backing off.

In for a penny, in for a pound, and all that.

"Uh, can we," Stiles said, his fingers lingering against Scott's hip, pushing at the waistband of his pants.

"Yeah, I," was what Scott said, getting back up on his knees and pushing his pants to his thighs.

Busy with staring, Stiles only belatedly helped when Scott reached out and tugged at his boxers, lifting up his hips so Scott could slide them down. Stiles was vaguely aware of the likelihood that there was a splotchy blush on his cheeks, spreading down to his chest, and that the way he was panting, his mouth hanging open, was probably not attractive, but none of that mattered when Scott settled back on top of him, all that skin against his.

Oh, wow. Scott's _dick_ against his.

"Do you have any, like," Scott said, and he sounded out of breath too, a little, and Stiles felt giddy with it, running a hand through Scott's hair, wanting to mess it up.

"Lotion, sure, obviously, do you know how many times I jerk off in a day? On average? So many times, dude," Stiles said, flailing for his bedside table while Scott laughed against his neck.

Scott snagged the bottle from him and flipped it open one handed, and then everything was slick and hot, the scent of lotion and sex and Scott heavy in the air.

They were trading sloppy kisses, their bodies moving against each other, uncoordinated, still searching for the perfect rhythm, and Stiles didn't mean to say it, it just slipped out.

"Is this real? Am I dreaming?"

Scott stilled, and hello, there were the glowing, burning red eyes. "This is real. You're here with me."

Which was what he'd said before, at school, when Stiles had been going through one of his episodes. It could have just been Stiles' subconscious copying reality. It didn't mean anything.

"Okay."

"Do you need to count?" Scott asked, catching one of Stiles' hands in his, his eyes still red, red.

"No," Stiles said. If it was a dream, he didn't want to find out right now. Counting could wait. "No, Scott. C'mon."

He pushed up against Scott, trying to get back to the good part. Scott still looked way too serious though, refusing to play ball. Bad dog, no biscuit, Stiles thought, huffing out a breath.

"If I was dreaming," he wondered out loud, "would it make this is somnophilia? Would it count?"

"Somno-what?" Scott asked, his expression turning perplexed.

"If I'm dreaming, that means you're not real, so probably not. You-right-here real, I mean. You're real-real in the real world, which this could be. Hah. Maybe I'm somnophiling myself? Wait, no, that sounds wrong."

"It does sound wrong," Scott said carefully. "And I'm not even sure what you're talking about. You're not dreaming."

"Dude, it's obvious you don't spend nearly enough time on the Internet," Stiles said. It was a struggle to keep his tone light, considering how extremely sexually frustrated he was feeling. "Anyway, this would be more like, a wet dream. A really good wet dream. And I already said I believe you."

"That's not what you said," Scott said, shifting his weight. When Stiles' hips twitched in response, he pushed back, rougher than before. His eyes were still glowing, and Stiles wasn't sure if it was hot or disturbing or both.

After a long, searching look, Scott started to move again, slowly picking up the pace. At the end of the day, he didn't have that much more self-control than Stiles, which was occasionally gratifying but didn't make up for the delay in mutual orgasms.

"Naked time is not the time to be stubborn, Scott," Stiles said, because even though Scott was getting with the program, it needed to be said. "You can convince yourself I'm convinced after we're finished with the happy fun times. And I gotta tell you, my heart's been going pitter-patter since you first kissed me, so you can take your little werewolf lie detector trick back to the shop for re-calibration right after we, yeah, that's what I'm talking about --"

Scott cut off his increasingly incoherent stream of words with a very French kiss, and a moment later, swallowed the high-pitched moan that escaped Stiles when he reached between them and wrapped a hand around Stiles' dick. Following his lead, Stiles slid his free hand down, his breath stuttering at the feel of another dude's dick in his hand. _Scott's_ dick.

His other hand was still captured by Scott's, and he twisted it just enough to twine their fingers together, gripping tight.

Scott squeezed him back, after which he did the same to Stiles' dick, and that was it, that's all she wrote.

Stiles might have considered giving some thought to being embarrassed, if he weren't so busy being blissed out. He didn't feel anywhere near coordinated enough to jerk Scott off, so he settled for patting Scott's flank encouragingly. It didn't take long before Scott was coming too, throwing his head back and spilling all over Stiles' hip and stomach, adding to the mess already there.

He was panting, his mouth open and eyes closed, his teeth looking a little sharp. Stiles glanced at their joined hands, where Scott was carefully not breaking Stiles' skin with his freaky werewolf nails.

"Goodness," he said when he looked back up to find Scott's eyes open. "What big red eyes you have."

Scott snorted, half laughing, his eyes turning back to familiar brown. "I can't believe you just said that, you jerk."

Stiles grinned, making it as obnoxious as his drowsy, sated state allowed. "Sure you can."

Scott laughed, because yeah, dude, of course he could, and kissed Stiles again. It was kind of an awful kiss, seeing as neither of them could stop grinning, but Stiles wouldn't have given it up for the world.

After another awful-wonderful moment, Scott broke the kiss with a happy sigh and fell back on the bed, side by side with Stiles, pulling his sweatpants back up.

The blanket had slid almost all the way off the bed, and Stiles eyed it balefully for a bit before somehow managing to find the energy to grab a corner and pull it up. He found Scott's shirt, too, and used it to wipe off the mess on his stomach before tugging his boxers in place.

Scott made a face when Stiles balled up the shirt and tossed it to the floor, but he didn't comment on it.

What he did say, eventually, when Stiles had almost drifted off without meaning to --

"Stiles. This is real."

"Okay," Stiles said, his eyes closed.

"Stiles," Scott repeated. When Stiles looked at him, he propped himself up on an elbow and said, "I mean it. I need you to tell me you believe me."

"I do," Stiles said, and in that moment, looking up into Scott's warm, familiar eyes, it was true.


End file.
